The Real Reason a Club Owner Hated Guitar Trios

During my time playing in South Korea, there was a jazz club owner who was notoriously hesitant to book one specific type of ensemble: the guitar trio. He was a passionate supporter of live music, but he confessed that guitar trios were bad for business. "The customers get bored and leave," he explained. Was it because the guitarists weren't technically skilled? Far from it. The problem was deeper. They were failing at their most fundamental responsibility as performers. That conversation has stuck with me ever since, a powerful lesson on the attitude that separates a technician from a true artist.

Sound Lonely Even With Band

The core of the issue was a complete absence of 'dialogue.' According to the owner, a typical scenario would unfold night after night. The guitarist would play the head—the song's melody—perfunctorily, as if it were a chore to get through. Then, the moment their solo began, they would turn their back on the band and the audience, diving into a private world of technical exercises. What poured from the stage wasn't music; it was a public display of the scales and licks they had practiced alone in their bedroom.

In that instant, the breathing, interacting rhythm section—the drummer and the bassist—were reduced to a lifeless 'backing track.' The vibrant, collaborative lifeblood of the music drained away, replaced by the guitarist's noisy monologue. The audience, no longer part of the experience, would quickly disengage. The recognizable melody was gone, the emotional thread was severed, and all that remained was an impenetrable wall of notes. They would start to yawn, and then they would leave. This is a story about a musician's 'responsibility.' On stage, we are not athletes showcasing our technical prowess; we are artists tasked with creating and guiding a shared experience. This responsibility is threefold. First, a responsibility to the music itself: to respect the integrity of the melody and harmony, reinterpreting the composer's intent beautifully in our own voice. Second, a responsibility to the band: to engage in a collaborative dialogue, creating a synergy that is greater than the sum of its parts, rather than using fellow musicians as tools. And finally, a responsibility to the audience: to provide a musical narrative they can connect with, moving beyond self-indulgent displays. A solo that is merely a string of scales neglects all three, and ultimately, it isolates the beautiful language of jazz.

Playing with Band

The attitude of a musician who infuses every note with sincerity—that is what creates a moving performance, far beyond what mere technique can achieve. We don't improvise to show off what we've practiced; we improvise to have a joyful conversation with our bandmates and our audience, using the melody as our shared topic. So, this weekend, take a moment to ask yourself a simple question: Is your playing a monologue, or is it a dialogue?